


Burning Both Ends

by anirondack



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Gen, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Non-Sexual Kink, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Wax Play, light painplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-23
Updated: 2015-08-23
Packaged: 2018-04-16 22:53:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4643040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anirondack/pseuds/anirondack
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Ronan stares at the line of mismatched candle holders on Adam’s box table, then turns back toward Adam and raises his eyebrows. </i>
  <br/>
  <i>“My lamp blew,” Adam says.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Burning Both Ends

Ronan stares at the line of mismatched candle holders on Adam’s box table, then turns back toward Adam and raises his eyebrows.

“My lamp blew,” Adam says.

Ronan eyes the dark shade. “When?”

“About ten days ago.”

Ronan snorts. “Seriously?”

“Yeah.”

“And instead of buying new bulbs, you decided to become Glendower’s secret Gothic little brother in your secret little church cave?”

Adam considers mentioning that his next paycheck won’t come until the sixteenth and that he can’t afford a new lightbulb until then, just he just shrugs and says, “yeah,” again.

“You’re like something Gansey jacks it to, swear to God.” Ronan picks up one of the (unlit) candles from the floor and lights it with a (lit) one from the box desk. “Can’t you just ask a nun to get you a new one?”

Adam doesn’t dignify that with an answer. Ronan should be smarter than that by now. “Put that down, you’ll hurt yourself.”

“Make me.” Ronan tilts the candle fractionally to the side, and a big bead of wax streaks down the side of it. “Shit looks like the candles from Mass last weekend.”

Adam says nothing.

Ronan glances up, then smirks. “Really? Never took you for the church thief type.”

“They were in the trash out back,” Adam says, slightly defensive. “St. Agnes throws them out after every Sunday Mass. I don’t know why.”

“Probably the same reason you’re not supposed to stick your dick in more than one girl,” Ronan says. “Doubling up is unholy.”

“God would hate to see what you do with chips, then.”

“Henrietta salsa is unholy too, I’m sure He would understand.” Ronan reaches over and pours the pooled up wax on one of the lit candles. The flame flickers and then dies out as the wick gets drenched and wax lands on the cardboard of the box table. Ronan digs a lighter out of his pocket and relights it.

“You smoking now?”

“Nah, just a light comes in handy sometimes.”

“For what?”

“Lighting church candles.” Ronan sounds like he looks smug, even though Adam can’t see his face.

“Don’t waste them, they have to last me ‘til next Sunday night.”

“There’s always Wednesday service. I’m sure they have candles there too.” Ronan turns around and Adam sees that he’s relit his own candle. The tiny glow colors his chin and mouth gold. “They’re probably less holy, though, so you can stick them in as many girls as you want.”

Adam makes a face. “Unlit, I hope.”

Ronan scoffs. “Amateur.”

“Wax hurts, man. Don’t know if you’ve ever noticed.”

“Don’t be a bitch, it’s just hot.”

“Hot stuff hurts.”

Ronan smirks again. “Don’t I know it.” He picks up another candle from the floor and lights it with his own, then passes it to Adam.

“You hate hot stuff.”

“Can’t hate what you already are, Parrish.”

Adam rolls his eyes and blows gently on the flame. It flickers violently, then steadies again.

“Bet I can handle it longer than you can.”

“Handle wh– shit!”

Adam blinks as Ronan waves his hand in the air. He’d spent long enough not paying attention to it that he’d forgotten the wax would drip, and it had. Ronan scratches bits of half solidified wax off of his hand and doesn't look at Adam’s smug smile.

“Conquer your fears, man. You show that hot stuff who’s boss.”

“Eat shit.”

“I’ll do it with you.” Adam waves his candle teasingly from side to side, careful not to splash himself.

“Get fucked, Parrish.”

“Challenge you to do it.”

“What are we, fuckin’ eight?” A beat, then. “Whatever. Afterwards, we go buy new lightbulbs, this is fucking stupid.”

“Sure, sure.” Adam edges over to Ronan’s side and taps their candles together. “Hold it ‘til you can’t anymore.”

“Gonna be as old as Jesus when we leave.”

“Maybe it’ll give you some insight into finding Glendower.”

“Even Jesus doesn’t know as much as Gansey about Glend–” He cuts himself off abruptly.

Adam knows Ronan. He knows that Ronan’s tolerance for emotional pain is stronger than his tolerance for physical pain, if only because he knows how to punch emotional pain in the face (with loud music and a couple beers too many). Ronan tries to keep his expression schooled into disinterest but Adam also knows Ronan’s face, and he notices the tiny flinch in Ronan’s eyes when the wax starts slipping down the back of his hand. Wax is rolling down his own hand too, starting to collect in the small hollow next to his thumb, but the skin isn’t chapped anymore, so it doesn’t hurt nearly as much as it could. He’s used to his hands hurting from some sort of burn or another, and it hardly phases him anymore.

Ronan twists his wrist a little and the barely dried wax cracks with his skin. He goes to flick a piece of it off, but the candle spills more down its wax body and over Ronan’s fingers and he jerks his hand back an inch without meaning to. Adam looks at Ronan and Ronan looks into the small flame with such intensity that he feels like they’re both about to be sucked into it.

Adam grimaces as a bead of wax burns across his pulse and his hand shakes a little, causing more to coat his fingers. He clenches his hand a little and the reflection of the flame waves slowly with his heartbeat until the wax hardens into an opaque shell around his knuckles.

Something bangs loudly downstairs and Ronan starts badly, dropping his candle. It splatters wax on the old wood floor - the floor’s seen worse in its years as a refuge - and rolls off in the direction of Adam’s bed. Ronan stares at Adam, eyes slightly widened, then looks down at the candle, and then back at Adam. His nostrils flare and he opens his mouth as he leans down to pick it up, but then Adam reaches out and catches him by the shoulder of his t-shirt.

“Leave it.”

Ronan falters almost imperceptibly, then bends down the rest of the way and picks the candle up anyway.

Adam digs the tips of his fingers into the end of Ronan’s pointy collar bone. “I said  _leave it_.”

The candle slips from Ronan’s fingers and lands back on the ground, more quietly this time. Ronan straightens up again, stretching the hand with wax on it to try to loosen it.

Adam let’s go of Ronan’s shirt and grabs his hand instead. Ronan starts to say something, but Adam places his candle into Ronan’s palms and curls his fingers around it. “Hold it.”

“Parrish, what the fuck?”

Adam looks up at Ronan steadily. “I told you to hold it.” His hand wraps around Ronan’s, close to the wrist, holding his fingers tight against the wax body. Ronan starts to spread his fingers, but Adam’s hands are strong from hours of working on cars, so he tightens his grip until his knuckles turn white over their perpetual tan.

Ronan’s entire body is tense and his arm flexes as he tries to spread his fingers again, but Adam can tell he’s not trying very hard. He flicks a thick piece of wax off of Ronan’s wrist with a nail on his free hand. The skin under it is reddened and painful looking. Adam pokes at it and Ronan breathes out quietly through his nose.

“Does it hurt?” he asks quietly.

“Are you fucking serious? You’re trying to light my hand on fire and you–”

Adam taps the candle with one finger and another small wave of wax lands on Ronan’s hand. It’s starting to build up in places, especially around the webbing of his thumb, but a thin layer settles in between the tendons of Ronan’s fingers. The wax flexes as Ronan’s grip on the candle tightens. Adam blows gently on it until it hardens, then glances up to meet Ronan’s eyes again.

“Did  _that_  hurt?”

“Yeah,” says Ronan quietly.

“Do it again, then.”

Adam catches himself holding his breath, suddenly unsure that Ronan will do it, unsure that he won’t throw the candle on the ground and storm out. But Ronan turns his arm so his wrist is bared and tips the candle back on himself. He hisses gently through his teeth as the wax hits the delicate skin, but he doesn’t straighten the candle until Adam does it for him.

“Church candles burn pretty hot,” Adam comments. “That doesn’t seem very  _holy_.”

Ronan gives him a tight, thin smile. The wax oozes down his forearm, piling on itself. Adam pushes two streaks apart while the was is still warm and complying, then squeezes Ronan’s fingers with his own. “Again.”

Ronan tilts the candle without hesitation, even though he winces when the wax starts flowing. It runs over the ridges of his veins and little half-hardened lines of off-white. Adam can feel the heat of the wick’s flame on his face as he leans in a little to watch. He hears a little hitch of breath and glances up, expecting to see Ronan staring at him, but Ronan’s eyes are closed and his head is bowed slightly, like he’s in the middle of a Sunday prayer.

Adam straightens the candle again and runs the pad of his finger over the dried wax. It’s smooth over the back of Ronan’s hand, much smoother than Ronan’s skin is. Adam traces each tendon as Ronan makes it available. Ronan’s skin flushes pink under the thinnest layers. The cracked edges of wax where movement broke through must grate on him.

He’s not sure if the hand that’s shaking is Ronan’s or his.

Adam reaches up with his free hand and darts his fingers through the candle’s flame a couple times. It’s pleasantly warm, only becoming too hot when he slows down enough to see the shadow dance on Ronan’s eyelids. He rubs his fingertips to his thumb, then presses them under Ronan’s chin. Ronan twitches and his eyes fly open at the touch, but he doesn’t pull away at all.

Maybe it’s just wishful thinking on Adam’s part, but it seems like he pushes closer.

Adam tips the candle again, then reaches under Ronan’s arm with his free hand to catch a drop of wax from landing on Ronan’s jeans. Ronan’s bicep twitches.

“That looks like it hurts,” Adam murmurs, not bothering to look at Ronan’s hand again.

Ronan doesn’t say anything.

“You should rinse it off.”

A flicker of an eyelid, maybe, but that’s all there is.

“Come here.” Adam bows his head and blows out the candle, then gently pries it from Ronan’s grasp. Ronan’s fingers don’t seem to want to set it free, but eventually Adam takes it away and sets it on the box table with the others. His fingers curl tighter around Ronan’s as he tugs him toward the small bathroom. Ronan seems to take a moment to figure out what Adam wants, because his first few steps are clumsy and unsure.

Adam turns on the tap in the sink - cold water, because there is no hot - and pulls Ronan’s hand under it. He rubs his thumbs over the sheets of wax, gently loosening it from Ronan’s skin until pieces start to fall away. His nails work under the edges and push inward, separating white from pink, and gently massaging the light burns with water. He sees Ronan swallow hard out of the corner of his eye as he sweeps a pile of wax away from the drain, and he thinks he seels a flash of teeth embedded in Ronan’s lower lip when the last of the wax comes free and his fingers run over Ronan’s burns unhindered. In the flow of the tap, they look darker than they really are.

Ronan flexes his fingers gently as Adam pats his hand dry with a towel. The towel is shit, some old dish towel that was still in the St. Agnes office, and it scratches unpleasantly, but Adam runs a soothing thumb over each burn after, so it’s not unbearable. Adam dries Ronan’s arm, and then his own hands, and then presses a gentle kiss to the third knuckle of Ronan’s index finger, where the burn is the worst.

Then he leads Ronan back into his room and, one by one, blows all of the candles out.

 

 


End file.
